


Who Cares What Wise Men Say?

by holdyourbreathfornow



Series: The Teacher's Lounge [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: 1920s AU, Fire, M/M, Multi, Stabbing, This is a prequel, author suffers, cellist!Virgil, it’s basically my masterpiece because I almost died making it, no one dies, not as much as characters, remas content, since i can’t find any, singer!Roman, virgil gets hurt a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdyourbreathfornow/pseuds/holdyourbreathfornow
Summary: Virgil is a criminal in New York City who gets taken to the Matinee, a gay bar, by his cohort REMY.  When the famed Red Robin performs, Virgil thinks it might be love at first sight.





	Who Cares What Wise Men Say?

**Author's Note:**

> I love this. It’s my best work yet. It’s also probably my longest, RIP

Virgil’s lived on the streets of Chicago ever since the monastery kicked him out.  He had been left on the church’s doorstep as a baby and had been raised in the safety of the orphanage until his eighteenth birthday.  The old nuns had baked him a cake, handed him a duffel full of donated clothes, and shut the door behind him just as he turned back to ask where he should go.  And that was when Virgil learned not to trust anyone. 

 

“This score should be easy enough.”  Remy, another boy like Virgil, living on the street and deep in a life of crime, smokes his last cigarette as he and Virgil plan a bank robbery.  

 

Virgil knows that this is wrong.  His sense of morals is strong from years of beatings and getting his ear nearly ripped off from how often he was dragged around by it.  

 

But at the same time, he knows he can’t say anything, because if he and Remy don’t get some cash soon, they’re going to either freeze or starve to death.  

 

“I know that look on your face, sugar.”  Remy folds the map away, along with the pen he was using to write on it, and hops up onto the wood, crossing his ankles daintily and peering at Virgil through his eyelashes.  “You got your reservations?”

 

“Nothing new.”  Virgil mutters as he leans forward, resting on the table with his elbows.  “Just the usual.” 

 

“The whole ‘oh we’re gonna be arrested, they’ll know I’m gay, put me in front of a firing squad’ usual?”  When Virgil doesn’t answer, Remy sighs and hops down from the table, landing lightly and slinging an arm over Virgil’s shoulders to tug him into the older man’s chest.  “Oh, dearie, you just need to relax. Why don’t we have a night out on the town? Go see some shows, yada yada yada?”

 

“But what about the-”

 

“Nope, it’s too late, I’ve made up my mind.  Night out on the town. From this moment forward, if the word ‘heist’ leaves either of our mouths, an appropriate punishment shall be handed down by the hand of God!”  Remy’s volume crescendoes dramatically and he waves his hands in the air. Virgil snorts when Remy finally stops speaking and Remy grins, sliding his sunglasses down over his eyes and heading for the door.  “C’mon, doll, we don’t have all night.”

 

Virgil rolls his eyes and jogs after him.

 

-

 

“Okay, this is the classiest gay bar in the entirety of New York City, New York.”  Remy and Virgil stand on the sidewalk, Remy’s hands cupped over Virgil’s eyes to surprise him.  “If we can’t find you a man here, then you’re shit out of luck, doll.”

 

“Language.”  Virgil mutters out of habit and Remy scoffs before finally pulling his hands away.  Virgil’s blinded for a moment by the bright neon of the lights, but when his vision darkens back to normal, they widen in awe.

 

The bar is styled like a movie theater, with  the words ‘The Matinee’ in the place where whatever picture was currently playing would be normally.  The posters on the outside show stylized, black and white images of laughing gay couples, or some doing some silly dramatic pose, made to look like movie posters.

 

“This looks so high-end.”  Virgil mutters and Remy nods before grabbing Virgil’s wrist and tugging him towards the ticket booth.  A person with cotton-candy blue and pink hair leans on the counter inside the booth, examining their nails and obviously bored out of their skull.

 

“Pardonne moi, mon ami!”  Remy raps on the glass and the person startles, glancing up.  When they see Remy, they grin and open the booth door, coming out to hug Remy.  The older man laughs and picks the booth worker up off their feet, swinging them in a circle before setting them back down and turning to Virgil.  “Virgil, baby, this sweetheart is Talyn. They’re my in for the Matinee.”

 

“Your in.”  Talyn snorts and holds a hand out for Virgil to shake.  “Pleasure to meet you, kiddie. Remy’s told me a lot about his new little trouble-making accomplice.”  They pause and lean in closer to examine Virgil’s face closely. “Are you sure you’re old enough to be bar-hopping, Virgil?  You look a little young.” Virgil blushes scarlet, but Remy just laughs and slaps Talyn lightly on the shoulder.

 

“Dear, if you honestly believe I’d bring someone underage to the Matinee, you need to hit the giggle juice less.”

 

“We both know I don’t drink, Remy.  That’s your vice.” But nonetheless, Talyn walks back into the booth and hands them two tickets through the little slit in the glass.  “You two enjoy the show. We got Red performing tonight.”

 

“Ooh!”  Remy jumps a little in excitement and shakes Virgil’s arm.  “Darling, I have got to introduce you to Red! Set of lungs like you’ve never heard and his eyes could kill a woman at fifty paces!”

 

“I thought he was gay?”  Virgil asks and Remy nods enthusiastically.

 

“Trust me, he is.  He just plays a straight man very well when he’s out in broad daylight.”  Virgil opens his mouth to reply, but they finally emerge into the main section of the club and his tongue goes dry in his mouth.

 

Women dressed in tuxedos carry trays of drinks and smokes, walking among the crowds and occasionally being pulled into the laps of grinning women.  The men’s attention is on the stage, where a man in another tuxedo is playing the violin expertly, eyes closed as he loses himself in the music. Remy looks around and spots a booth, dragging himself and Virgil into it.  

 

“You should perform here.  Your cello skills would be very popular.”  Remy murmurs lowly and Virgil’s eyes go wide as the violinist vacates the stage and the lights dim slightly.  A man gets onto a separate, smaller stage and holds up a megaphone.

 

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the man you’ve been waiting for all night!  The Red Robin, Roman!” The crowd breaks into cheers and applause as a spotlight shines onstage, revealing an angel.

 

Virgil’s face goes even redder as he stares at the angel onstage, and the rest of the world seems to become muffled around him.  The singer struts onstage and grabs the microphone, tilting it into a dip before setting it back up and winking at the audience before he begins to sing.

 

Any chatter in the audience dies as soon as he opens his mouth, and Virgil quickly realizes why.  It’s because Roman has the voice of an angel. He’s singing without accompaniment, and Virgil’s hands itch for his cello.  In his mind, he’s composing the background of the stage Roman sets with his voice, and Virgil almost doesn’t realize it when Roman stops singing, because he’s got his voice on a loop inside his head.

 

Remy applauds politely before getting to his feet and draining the rest of his drink that had been brought while Virgil was distracted.

 

“Where are you going?”  Virgil asks and stands up to follow Remy when the older man just winks and begins cutting his way through the room.  “Remy! Wait up!”

 

“Then keep up, doll!”  Remy trills before opening a door.  Virgil jogs to get through before Remy closes it and finds himself backstage, where male, female, and non-binary performers are tuning instruments and voices alike.  

 

“Are we allowed back here?”  

 

“Remember who you’re talking to.”  Remy winks at a singer as he walks and the man blushes brightly, waving back with an equally bright grin.  “Damn, I’ll have to remember that face. Anyway!” Remy claps his hands together and causes Virgil to startle.  “We’re back here because I’m gonna blow your mind.”

 

“Okay…”  Virgil drawls and crosses his arms over his chest.  “How?”

 

“By introducing you to Roman.”  Remy stops at a cherry-red door with a golden star sign.  Virgil peers at the sign a little closer and sees that it’s engraved with the words ‘Red Robin’.  His eyes widen and dart to Remy, who’s teasingly keeping his hand raised above the wood surface. 

 

“Don’t you dare.”  This is what Virgil means to say, what his lips begin to form, but Remy moves quick as lightning, hammering on the door before flitting away, back the way the two had originally come, laugh chiming like bells, like the laugh of the fae trickster Remy must have been in some past life.

 

For a moment, Virgil stands frozen.  But a moment is all it takes. The door swings open and Roman steps out, looking at Virgil quizzically.  Virgil squeaks quietly and feels his entire face erupt into flames. 

 

“You lost, cutie?”  Roman braces an arm on the door jamb and leans on it, the movement letting Virgil see his stomach when his unbuttoned dress shirt falls a little more open.  Virgil resolutely looks at a spot over Roman’s shoulder so he doesn’t further embarrass himself and thrusts one hand out.

 

“I was told to introduce myself.  My name’s Virgil, I‘m a cellist.” Roman gasps excitedly and grips Virgil’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically.

 

“A musician!  That’s brilliant!  I play a few myself, but I prefer singing.”

 

“I sound like a squashed cat when I sing.”  Virgil admits and Roman laughs, a great, booming thing that makes him almost double over.

 

“Well, if you can play,” Roman begins, straightening back up and grinning excitedly, “And I can sing, why don’t we perform together?”

 

“Y-you’re serious?”  Virgil asks, shaking himself and trying to wake up from the dreamworld he’s somehow wandered into.

 

“Absolutely!”  Roman beams and waves Virgil into his dressing room.  Virgil walks in hesitantly and settles onto a couch as Roman uses a wet towel to scrub at the red glitter on his face.  “So you wouldn’t mind performing with me?”

 

“Of course not.  You’re an excellent singer.”  Roman laughs and meets Virgil’s gaze in the mirror.

 

“Darling, flattery will get you everywhere.  Tell you what!” Roman whirls suddenly and Virgil startles.  “You and I can perform together one night. If the people adore it, then our performing shall continue!  Deal?” He holds a hand out and smiles at Virgil. Virgil smiles back before shaking it.

 

“Deal.”

 

-

 

Virgil’s cello is tuned, but he still checks each string nervously, plucking at them and pausing to wipe his sweaty hands off on his slacks.

 

“Breathe, Virgil.”  Roman whispers to him, peering through the curtain at the parlor full of people.  “We shall do brilliantly.”

 

“What if we screw up?”  Virgil hisses and Roman whirls, planting his hands on Virgil’s shoulders and staring deep into Virgil’s eyes.  

 

“What if we perform perfectly?  We won’t know until we do it, and I do believe the time has come.”  At Roman’s words, the curtain rolls open and he grins for their audience.  He nods to Virgil, who exhales slowly and draws his bow over the strings.

 

Quickly, both men get lost in the music.  A hush falls over the entire building as the Red Robin sings, and Virgil plays a melody that weaves and twines with Roman’s, even keeping up with the man’s riffs and throwing in a few of his own.

 

When the song ends finally, Roman pants and beams at Virgil, who can barely hear the crowd cheering over the roaring of blood in his ears.  He wants to keep this moment, with Roman ignoring the crowd to smile at him, and adrenaline making him beam back just as happily.

 

“I’m keeping you!”  Roman tells him later, as they stand outside the closed Matinee, and Virgil laughs.  

 

“More like, we’re keeping each other.”

 

“Yeah, I like that.”  Roman grins and reaches out, resting a hand on Virgil’s shoulder.  “We did good, Virgil. Go home, get some rest, we have work to do.”

 

Virgi nods and turns, heading home.

 

-

 

The townhouse Virgil and Remy live in has its lights on in the living room when Virgil makes his way down the sidewalk.  He cocks his head in confusion and stares long enough to make out two distinct silhouettes sitting by the fire. Still confused, he goes in through the kitchen entrance and peers around the doorway into the living room.  

 

Remy and the singer from the Matinee, the one Remy had winked at, are settled on a settee, holding hands and mugs of tea.  They’re talking quietly, but pause to kiss or just sit in content silence. Virgil smiles and raps lightly on the frame. The singer startles and jumps to his feet, grinning nervously at Virgil.  Remy just sighs and wraps an arm around the singer’s waist as he also stands. 

 

“This is Thomas, Mom.”  Remy drawls sarcastically and Virgil laughs, walking in and shaking Thomas’ hand.  

 

“Pleasure to meet you.  I’m dead tired, so I’m just gonna head up to my room.”

 

“Nice to meet you too.  We’ll stay quiet.” Thomas’ smile becomes soft and Virgil nods in thanks, turning away and heading for the stairs.  For some reason, when he hears Remy and Thomas resume talking, he thinks of Roman and something in his chest aches.

 

-

 

Months pass and Virgil learns several things:  People enjoy his performing with Roman, Roman’s a hurricane and leaves Virgil craving more every night, and Virgil’s cello case is difficult to maneuver down the streets, especially at night.  But he knows it’d get stolen if he left it in the Matinee, so he takes it home with him, night after night. The streets are dark around him, but he isn’t afraid.

 

At first.  

 

From a pub near the end of the street, the door opens and a trio of men spill into the street.  They’re obviously inebriated, and together are singing a drinking song as they stumble down the street.  Virgil edges a little further away, which is a mistake, because it makes the tallest of the men zero in on Virgil.

 

“Look, boys!”  He calls loudly and sloshes towards Virgil menacingly.  “It’s one a’ those Matinee freaks!” Virgil stifles his wince and tries to walk away but the trio surround him far quicker than a bunch of drunk men should be able to.  They bustle him down an alley and pin him against the wall, still laughing and jeering at him all the while. “Where’s your wallet, gay boy?” Wordlessly, VIrgil fishes out his money clip and throws it at the tallest man’s feet.  But he scoffs and kicks it aside, looking down at Virgil angrily. “You’re supposed to cry and whine, boy. That’s what makes kicking your ass fun!” He reaches into his coat and flicks open a pocketknife. Virgil feels himself go pale and he struggles where the fattest man keeps his arms pressed to the wall.  

 

“Let me go!”  He growls out and the tallest man laughs before darting forward suddenly.  The blade pierces Virgil’s side and he chokes on his own cry of pain when the tallest removes the blade just as quickly.  The fattest man keeps Virgil on his feet until the tallest slaps at his shoulder and nods his head toward the alley entrance.  The three leave and Virgil slumps to the filthy ground, hands clamping over his wound. He sobs once and bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood.  Then he takes a deep breath and gets to his feet. One hand fumbles out and latches onto his cello. He spits a curse to the indifferent, starry sky, and starts walking back to the Matinee.  

 

-

 

Virgil stands on the porch of Roman’s house, clutching his side and letting rain stream into his face as he knocks on the door.  Nervously, he shifts from foot to foot, eyes darting to where one of the windows lights up as Roman awakens inside. There’s a minute’s wait before the door’s pulled open and Roman stands in front of Virgil.

 

His caramel brown hair is pulled back from his face with a simple black elastic band, and his tanned skin glows in the illumination of the ceiling lamp shining behind him.  His dressing gown is silk and hangs open, revealing his simple red boxers.

 

When Roman sees Virgil, his mouth falls open and he steps halfway out, hands reaching carefully for where Virgil’s clutching his side.

 

“Virgil, what happened?”  His eyebrows furrow in concern, but he shakes his head and presses himself to the door jamb, hurriedly beckoning Virgil into his house.  “Come in, come in. I’ll take a look at that in the kitchen.”

 

“Thanks.”  Virgil shuffles in out of the rain and pauses hesitantly on the floor mat, not wanting to drip water on Roman’s wood floor.  Roman, who’s already halfway down the hall, turns back to look at Virgil. When he figures out why Virgil isn’t coming, he sighs and walks back, grabbing Virgil’s arm and tugging him along behind him.  

 

“Honestly, you come to my house bleeding from your stomach and worry about getting water on my floors.”  Roman scoffs and they emerge into the kitchen, Virgil letting Roman gently manhandle him into a stool at the breakfast bar.  He hadn’t even realized he was bleeding, but as soon as Roman said it, he can feel the warm wetness oozing between his fingertips.  “Move your hands, Virge.”

 

“Sorry, sorry.”  Virgil winces as his shirt peels from his hands, tacky with his own blood.  Roman hums in concern and rolls the shirt up until he can get to the stab wound in Virgil’s side.

 

“Don’t apologize for getting stabbed.”  Roman scolds and wipes at the wound, making Virgil jolt and hiss.  “Ssh, it’s okay, I’m just cleaning it. Virgil, I think this might need stitches.  What happened?” At first, Virgil doesn’t want to tell him, but Roman locks gazes with him and he feels most of that resolve drain away.  Not enough to tell the truth, though.

 

“I got mugged on the way home from the Matinee.  They almost stole my cello.”

 

“Did you seriously put your cello up before coming here?”  When Virgil doesn’t answer, Roman chuckles disbelievingly and shakes his head.  “Leave it to a musician to almost bleed out over their instrument.”

 

“Don’t be rude.”  Virgil murmurs and Roman turns away from him, disappearing down the hall before returning with a sewing kit and a bottle of whiskey.  “Am I allowed to drink that?”

 

“Not yet.”  Roman snorts and pulls the belt from Virgil’s trousers, folding it in double and pressing it to Virgil’s mouth.  “Bite down on this, I have to clean that stab.” Virgil obliges and the scream he releases is muffled by the thick leather.  The alcohol burns in his veins like liquid fire, and he curls his fingers painfully tight into the marble of the counter. Roman shushes him wordlessly but keeps pouring and Virgil can feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.  He grunts once the alcohol stops pouring onto him, and peels his fingers from the counter one by one.

 

“Sorry, baby, it’s not over yet.”  Virgil doesn’t have time to overthink Roman’s pet name because Roman has quickly threaded the needle and Virgil feels his flesh being tugged back together inch by inch, and it’s a sickening feeling that makes him want to puke.  He shudders and leans forward. Roman’s standing close enough that Virgil can hide his face in the meat where Roman’s shoulder meets his neck. Roman hums once and Virgil feels the thread being pulled tight. Roman lays some gauze over it and his fingers pat absently at the wound while he hums quietly to Virgil.

 

“Sorry.”  Virgil gasps out and Roman hushes him fiercely, one hand cupping the back of Virgil’s neck and the other resting on his hip bone, rubbing slow circles on it.  

 

“Nothing to be sorry for, baby.  You’re okay, that’s all that matters.”  Virgil sighs heavily and lifts his face from the warmth of Roman’s skin.

 

“I’m gay.”  he says bluntly and Roman belts out a startled laugh.

 

“You were in the Matinee, Virge.  I had a feeling.” He moves the hand on Virgil’s neck down to tangle his fingers with Virgil’s.  “But you’re also kind of oblivious. I’ve been doing my best to drop hints.”

 

“Next time, be blunt with me.  Brutally honest.” Virgil says, mesmerized by the way Roman’s eyes are staring at him through his long, spider-leg eyelashes.  

 

“I can do that.”  Roman smiles and stands between Virgil’s open legs, kissing him so deeply Virgil practically feels his spine melt through his dangling toes.  He grips Roman’s shoulders and sighs quietly against Roman’s lips, content hazing his mind like morning fog. 

 

“Stay the night.”  Roman whispers and Virgil hums when Roman pulls away, blinking his eyes open slowly.  “Please, Virgil? I can’t let you just leave after this.” Like he’s trying to convince him, Roman bites gently at Virgil’s jaw and Virgil’s chest lights up with fire.  He nods wordlessly and Roman pulls away, eyes bright and shining in the light of the kitchen.

 

-

 

Virgil wakes slowly, rolling over to re-orient himself.  Sunlight slants through the room, peeking through the blinds and falling across the room.  It falls perfectly on Roman, still sound asleep next to Virgil, dying his hair gold but not falling in his eyes.  Virgil grins and sits up, reaching for his pants and shirt.

 

He heads down to the kitchen and reaches for a scrap of paper and a pen.  He has to go get his cello from the Matinee and tells Roman as much in his note, suggesting they meet up for lunch.  He signs it and leaves it next to the kettle, knowing that’s where Roman will find it quickly. 

 

The sun is almost directly overhead, and Virgil feels his spirit rising with it, whistling merrily as he heads for the Matinee.  He nods to anyone who smiles at him, feeling like his good mood is an armor for him, protecting him from anything that might drag him down.  He’s almost made it to the Matinee when he sees a boy selling flowers. He fishes in his pocket for a coin and produces one. Maybe Roman will reward him with kisses if he returns with flowers.  

 

But before he can go to the boy, something heavy collides with the back of Virgil’s head.  His coin clatters to the ground and he falls to his knees, the world spinning around him. The heavy object makes contact again and his sight fades to black as he collapses on the pavement.

 

-

 

Virgil jolts awake.  His head knocks against a brick wall and he yelps.  He tries to raise his hands to cup his head but finds they’re bound behind his back.  The trio from last night appear suddenly and he yelps again. They watch as he struggles against his rope bindings, wincing as blood drools down his wrists and onto the wood floor under him.  His three harassers laugh over him, watching him struggle like children watch a dog fight a leash.

 

“Please!”  Virgil begs for his life, voice cracking with fear.  The tallest man guffaws and elbows the fattest one in the ribs.

 

“Did you hear that, boys?  The dog’s begging for a bone!”  The tallest man’s face closes like a window in a storm and he backhands Virgil across the face.  Virgil’s neck pops painfully and he whines, high in the back of his throat, to stop himself from crying out.  “Beg, boy. We’re gonna kill you, but maybe you can make us laugh first.”

 

“John, are you sure about this?”  The fattest one asks and the tallest hisses at him to shut the hell up.

 

“Yes, Leroy, I’m sure.”  He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a switchblade.  Virgil presses against the bindings he’s tied to, trying to escape the blade and the stab wounds he would very much like to not have.  

 

One of the levers switches and the sound of uncoiling rope distracts Virgil’s tormentors and Virgil himself.  All four look up to see the row of lights that shines on the stage hurtling to the ground. Virgil’s gaze jumps from that to a few barrels of beer for the bar, and it’s like he can see, in his mind’s eye, what happens before it actually does.  

 

When the lights collide with the barrels, they burst, sending heavy-scented alcohol pouring throughout the Matinee.  The filaments in the bulbs pop and spark as they break, and one spark is all it takes. The alcohol alights, and the Matinee roars into flames.  

 

Cursing, the trio of tormentors flee through a back door, leaving Virgil bound and struggling.  The flames aren’t near him yet, but the thick smoke makes him cough, and he dips his head to bury his nose in the fabric of his shirt.  Distantly, Virgil can still smell the cinnamon of Roman’s home woven into the fabric, but as much as it comforts him, he knows he can’t breathe too deeply.  He struggles fruitlessly, the ropes bound too tight and only making his wrists bleed harder, faster.

 

From the employee entrance, Virgil hears the sound of wood meeting wood, the door being forcefully hurled open.

 

“Virgil?”  Roman’s muffled voice calls out, coughing once and Virgil’s heart soars.

 

“Here!  Roman, by the ropes!”  Virgil coughs more as he speaks, but Roman’s footsteps grow louder regardless.  

 

“Virgil?”  Roman appears suddenly, through curtains that haven’t begun to blaze yet, and he gasps, falling to his knees and tugging at the ropes.  “Virgil, what happened?”

 

“The same three guys jumped me again.  They figured out I perform at the Matinee.  They were gonna kill me, Roman.” The curtains catch fire then and the smoke becomes thicker, more oppressive and black, making Virgil hack, since he’s been exposed to it longer.  While Roman unknots his ropes as quickly as he can, Virgil leans forward, suddenly bone-deep tired.

 

“You can’t sleep on me now, Virgil.”  Roman’s voice is like solid iron, but Virgil can listen closely enough to hear the undercurrent of growing hysteria in the way Roman trembles when he says ‘sleep’.  “Please, baby, you won’t wake up again.”

 

“Trying.”  Virgil mutters and shakes his head.  That clears the exhaustion a little, but he knows if they don’t get out of there soon, both he and Roman will succumb to the smoke.

 

“A-ha!”  Roman gasps in relief and Virgil feels the ropes fall away.  He staggers to his feet and Roman grabs his arm, pulling Virgil with him as he heads for the employee entrance.  “It’s okay, Virgil. Everything’ll be alright.”

 

“I believe you.”  Virgil sighs and Roman’s shoulders droop a little at the sound of Virgil’s voice.

 

“Just stay with me, we’re right there.”  The door looms from the blackness and Roman sweeps Virgil into his arms bridal-style.  With a sharp grunt, he kicks the door open and runs into the street. Virgil buries his face in Roman’s chest, thanking every higher power he can name that they both made it out.

 

-

 

The Matinee burns like the sun in the New York City night, and Virgil can’t help but watch.  Roman holds him to his chest tightly, face buried in Virgil’s hair, and Virgil coughs once, quietly, the last strains of smoke leaving his system.

 

“I almost lost you.”  Roman mutters to Virgil over the sounds of crackling wood and popping bulbs, and Virgil gets Roman to set him down and turns slowly to wrap his arms around Roman’s waist, burying his face in Roman’s chest.

 

“Not gonna.”  Virgil yawns. “Not now, not ever.”

 

“I believe you.”  Roman says and Virgil giggles.  He peels his face up and presses his lips to Roman’s firmly.  When they part for air, Virgil needing it more than Roman, Roman hugs him tighter.  “We’re going to have to leave New York City. They might blame us for the Matinee.”

 

“Always wanted to see California.”  Virgil says and Roman laughs, as bright as the Matinee burning behind Virgil.

 

“A new life?”

 

“Sounds good.”  The two turn and amble their way through the mob, but someone grabs Virgil’s shoulder suddenly.  He turns and sees Remy, arm curled casually around Thomas’ waist. Thomas is watching the Matinee burn, trying to give the three privacy even though he’s standing right there.  

 

“You two skipping town, too?”  Remy asks, eyes flitting meaningfully to where the two’s fingers are interwoven.  “Because kiddies, the fat lady is a-singing.”

 

“We’ll head for California, find a job, maybe perform some more.”  Roman’s seized onto the idea with fervor, and any tears that fell in the Matinee are long-gone, only cheeks that are slightly reddened to be any evidence.  He sobers, suddenly, and looks at Remy. “What will you two do?”

 

“Florida’s nice in the summer.”  Thomas chimes casually, and when Virgil looks, he smiles shyly.  “I’d love to see Palm Beach.”

 

“Well, there ya go!”  Remy plants a kiss on Thomas’ cheek and tugs him incrementally closer.  “We’ll head for Florida.”

 

“Good luck.”  Virgil says quietly and Remy nods.

 

“You too, doll.  Maybe we’ll see y’all again.”  With that, the other couple fades into the night shadows.  The mob dissolves around them, and it’s just Virgil and Roman standing outside the smoking ruins of the Matinee.  

 

Roman lets go of Virgil’s hand and takes a few hesitant, coltish steps forward.  Virgil almost follows him, but Roman whirls suddenly, entire face beaming, and he sweeps Virgil off his feet, spinning the shorter man in a circle enthusiastically.  The sun breaks over the horizon and dazzles Virgil with the way it makes Roman’s face erupt with an almost holy glow.

 

“California, Virgil!  California or bust!” Virgil bursts into laughter and that’s how their new story starts.

 

The two of them, dancing on the ashes of their old life, the sun on their faces and the world at their feet.

 

Who knows where they’ll go.


End file.
